The Devil's Triangle

by Mark Robson

  It took a moment before she could make out the occupants. The vibration of the aircraft combined with the distance made it difficult. The air was also growing progressively more turbulent as the storms approached.

  ‘Unless either Sam or Callum has suffered dramatic hair loss and doubled his body weight in the past few hours, then I’m fairly certain that’s not them,’ she said, trying to lighten the mood. She shook her head and looked again. ‘There also appear to be two scantily clad women on board,’ she added.

  As she lowered the binoculars from her eyes, there was a loud bang from the front of the aircraft and everything began to vibrate. Niamh hugged the binoculars to her chest.

  ‘What’s that?’ she asked quickly, not sure she wanted to know the answer.

  ‘Not sure yet,’ Matthew replied. ‘Give me a moment.’

  A stream of smoke started emerging from the engine cowling behind the propeller. Matthew eased the throttle back slightly and tapped at one of the gauges.

  ‘Oil pressure’s dropping and the temperature’s rising. This doesn’t look good,’ he muttered.

  The engine gave a cough and Niamh screamed. She could not help herself.

  Matthew squeezed the throttle forward again, pushing it all the way to maximum, but all it seemed to do was make the vibration worse.

  ‘Sorry, sweetie,’ her father said, his voice remarkably unflustered. ‘This might be a bit of a rough ride home. Even with the throttle and prop levers at full, we’re barely maintaining our height and I’m not sure how long the engine is going to keep going.’

  ‘Are we going to crash?’

  ‘Don’t panic, Niamh,’ he said, his voice remaining calm. ‘Something’s gone a bit wrong with the engine. It’s probably not too bad, but it’s overheating and smoking a bit, that’s all. I’m going to put out an emergency call and sort things out. OK?’

  The engine coughed again and the vibration got worse. Occasional thicker puffs of black smoke spewed from under the cowling. A suffocating smell of burning oil filled the cockpit and streaks of black fluid began to run up the windscreen. Niamh sat rigid with fear, putting her arm across her mouth and nose in an effort to filter out the smell with the sleeve of her T-shirt. Her father reached across to the radio, clicked on to the emergency frequency and keyed the transmit button.

  ‘Mayday, mayday, mayday. Key West Control, this is Cherokee fife fouer Echo declaring an in-flight emergency.’

  ‘Cherokee fife fouer Echo, Control, your in-flight emergency is acknowledged. Launching Search and Rescue this time. Squawk emergency if able and state the nature of your emergency.’

  At that moment, the sky darkened as the sun disappeared behind approaching cloud. Niamh shivered. It was like the sensation she had felt in the pool earlier all over again, except this time the danger was hers. She glanced across at her father. He looked . . . businesslike! There appeared to be no real concern on his face – more lines of concentration than there had been earlier, but no fear.

  ‘Make sure you don’t touch the throttle, sweetie,’ he warned. ‘The engine is still working and I want to keep it that way as long as I can. Any sudden changes in power might kill it.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Dad,’ she mumbled through her sleeve. ‘I won’t touch anything.’

  A bright flash of lightning streaked between two black clouds to the south and the aircraft simultaneously lurched through a pocket of particularly severe turbulence. Niamh’s stomach churned and despite feeling cold with fear, she could feel sweat breaking out on her forehead. She had never been airsick before, but had the distinct feeling she might be about to add that experience to her list of firsts. There were sick bags stowed somewhere in the side pockets. She began fumbling for one, while trying to keep her mouth and nose covered. How could her dad breathe in this?

  The engine gave another cough and the propeller momentarily stuttered before resuming its droning pitch. A particularly dense cloud of inky-black smoke filled the windscreen. When it cleared, more streaks of oil plastered the perspex.

  ‘Control, Cherokee fife fouer Echo, fife miles south-east of Summerland Key, 1,200 feet on the altimeter, two niner niner fouer, heading two niner fife. Overheating engine. Suspect mechanical damage. Recovering to Summerland for immediate approach.’

  ‘Cherokee fife fouer Echo, your heading is good. Report finals.’

  ‘Are you sure we’re not going to crash?’ Niamh asked nervously.

  ‘There’s nothing to be scared of, Niamh,’ Matthew assured her, though this time he didn’t sound quite so convincing. ‘I’ll get us down safely, I promise.’

  He pulled out a checklist and turned to the pages edged in red.

  ‘I’ve already done this from memory, but can you read me that emergency drill aloud as a double-check?’ he asked, pointing at a list.

  ‘Sure.’

  Another fork of lightning stabbed at the sea with jagged tines. The storm clouds were racing shoreward now and although the approaching weather was still some distance away, the air seemed to tremble and quake at the impending onslaught. They had completed the emergency checks and were directly abeam the airstrip at a distance of about three miles when the engine gave a final spluttering cough and died. So, too, did the vibration. The sudden silence made it feel as if the aircraft’s heart had stopped beating, but to Niamh’s amazement, her father did not seem perturbed by this development.

  ‘Cherokee fife fouer Echo, engine has failed. Commencing glide approach, finals this time,’ he transmitted. His voice sounded unnaturally matter-of-fact to Niamh. Could he really be as calm as he seemed?

  ‘Cherokee fife fouer Echo, engine failure acknowledged. Summerland have been advised of your in-flight emergency.’

  Niamh could feel the pressure building in her cheek muscles as she instinctively clenched her teeth tighter. Her father eased the nose of the aircraft down and started a gentle turn.

  He grabbed the checklist from her and flipped the page.

  ‘That one now,’ he ordered.

  She read the list quickly, checking to make sure her father responded as the checks required. He did. She was impressed that he was so quick and confident with his answers. They were descending quickly now, but to Niamh’s amazement, the approach did not look much steeper than those she had experienced before. After nearly an hour of feeling the droning vibration of the engine through her ears and body, the relative silence of their approach felt both surreal and unnerving. The wind rush outside seemed to whisper to her in a strange, otherworldly language that sent shivers running up and down her back. A grumbling crackle of thunder that would not have been audible if the engine had been running added a dark undertone to the whispering voice. To make matters worse, the further around the turn they went, the steeper their approach became as Matthew continued to lower the nose of the aircraft more and more.

  Visibility through the front windscreen was virtually non-existent. Once they lined up with the runway, they would be flying blind. Niamh couldn’t help wondering how her father intended to land when he couldn’t see anything. She watched as he reached and lowered a lever. There was a pause and for the first time a look of real concern crossed her father’s face.

  ‘Come on, gear! Lock down,’ he muttered.

  ‘What’s the matter, Dad?’

  ‘The undercarriage isn’t lowering,’ he explained. ‘I’m not sure . . . damn! Of course it isn’t lowering, Matt, you idiot! Without the engine, you’ve got no hydraulics! Don’t worry, Niamh. There’s an emergency free-fall system. If I just pull this lever . . . Come on, baby. Don’t let me down now.’

  There was a clunk from underneath their seats.

  ‘Three greens!’ he announced triumphantly, pointing at the undercarriage position lights. He reached to his left and opened the storm window. ‘We have wheels. Now for the tricky bit.’

  ‘Do we have to go down so steeply?’ Niamh asked, edging as far back in the seat as she could.

  ‘Yes, honey,’ Matthew replied, his voice st
eady and reassuring. ‘We have to keep our airspeed up or we’ll stall. Can you take your feet off the rudder pedals, please? You’re making it hard for me to move them. Thanks.’

  From the little Niamh could see out of the side windows and the smeared front screen, the ground was rushing to meet them now. It appeared that her father was wrestling with the controls as the turbulent air bounced them around in the final moments of the approach. The aircraft bucked and rocked like a mad bronco all the way down to the ground. Niamh couldn’t really see much, but she had the feeling that the aircraft was sliding to the left and her father flew the entire approach with his head all but stuck out of the little storm window he’d opened on his side of the cockpit.

  In the final seconds, just as a crash seemed inevitable, Niamh shut her eyes, tucked her chin against her chest and tensed her body in anticipation of the impact. She couldn’t help herself. Her insides churned as the aircraft gave a sudden surge at the last second and twisted like a roller coaster entering a sudden climbing turn to the left. They thumped onto the ground, bouncing twice before they settled. Even then, Niamh could feel the gusting wind pushing at the machine – testing and flexing its invisible muscles as it sought to flip them over.

  The familiar rumbling sensation of the wheels on the runway as they rolled to a stop left her feeling weak with relief as she cracked her eyes open. They were on the ground. Safe. Matthew let out a long sigh.

  ‘Well, that was entertaining!’ he said, removing his headset. He unclipped his harness and leaned across to give her a quick hug. ‘Geoff’s not going to be best pleased with the state of his aeroplane, but at least we’re down safely. Are you OK? You look a bit green around the gills.’

  For a moment, Niamh was lost for words. Even had she not been reeling from the intensity of the experience, ‘entertaining’ would not have featured in her choice of descriptive words. Alarming. Terrifying. Even heart-stopping, but not ‘entertaining’.

  ‘I’m fine, Dad,’ she said eventually. ‘Or at least I will be when my heart and stomach get round to realising we’ve landed.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘Niamh’s in trouble!’ Sam yelled over his shoulder.

  ‘And we’re not?’ Callum called back, wearily heaving another bucket of water over the side of the boat.

  ‘She’s terrified. I can feel it,’ Sam added, ignoring his sarcasm. ‘I think she’s with Dad. They’re looking for us, but something’s gone wrong. They’re in danger.’

  ‘Well, unless you’ve been holding out on me and you’re really Superman in disguise, then I don’t see there’s much we can do about it.’

  To Sam’s frustration, Callum was right. It was all he could do to keep them alive, and he would not have been able to do that if his friend had not been bailing out the boat continuously for what now seemed to both of them like forever. Callum looked worn out, but they could not swap places. There was no way he was fit enough to control the boat, even if he had known how.

  For about the next ten minutes, Sam felt tightness in his chest that was nothing to do with his battle for survival. When the sense of fear turned suddenly to relief, he nearly fell over with the shock of the change.

  ‘She’s OK,’ he announced. ‘They both are. Whatever the danger was, it’s gone.’

  Callum was busy retching over the side. ‘Whoopee!’ he replied lamely.

  Sam gritted his teeth in a defiant grin as he returned his focus to the mountainous waves ahead. He knew his friend well enough to know that the sarcastic response was automatic. Niamh was safe, and the knowledge of this gave him renewed heart and strength. The boost proved invaluable, as the storm refused to let up and Sam was forced to dig deeper and deeper to find the strength to keep fighting it. Time ceased to have meaning as he negotiated wave after wave. When, finally, he spotted the flickering point of light ahead, he could not help wondering if his mind was playing tricks on him. Was it a miracle or a mirage?

  ‘A light!’ he called, a thrill running up through his stomach to his chest. ‘I’m sure I just saw a light ahead!’

  In normal daylight he would never have seen it, but the clouds overhead were so thick that it felt as though night was falling early. Sam was soaked to the skin, shaking with cold, and his arms were weak from what felt like an age of wrestling to keep the boat from capsizing in the monster swell. Constant pricking needles of salt spray stung his eyes and his lips were sore from repeatedly licking away seawater.

  A sudden spark of warmth ignited inside him as hope flared. He glanced back over his shoulder at Callum.

  ‘Did you hear me, Cal?’ he asked. ‘I said I saw a light.’

  ‘Great!’ his friend replied automatically, his voice barely audible above the wind and his tone registering little real interest. Callum appeared lost in a personal world of misery. He looked exhausted and hideously pale. Sam felt for him, but there was nothing he could do. He could not leave the wheel or they would both die. Callum had been sick so many times that he had nothing left to throw up, but his empty stomach had not halted his retching.

  ‘There it is again!’

  It was barely more than a flicker – just to the right of their current course. It hadn’t been a hallucination. Sam could not tell if the light was coming from a point onshore or from another vessel, but he didn’t care. He turned the boat towards the source, watching intently for further telltale flickers.

  A glance at the sonar screen told him they were still in relatively deep water, though it was definitely getting shallower. Given the visibility, he would have expected to be on top of the reef if the light was coming from the Keys. The swell alone was bigger than the two metres of depth he would have found there. His heart sank. The light had to be from another boat. There was no other explanation.

  Another pulse of particularly intense rain lashed at him, driven on by the wild, gusting wind. It drummed on the boat’s surfaces so hard that Sam could feel the vibration of it, distinct from that of the engines. Forward visibility was poor at best, but for a moment, he felt as if he was driving blind.

  He had little choice. Following the light was their only hope for survival.

  When the change came, it came quickly. Sam glanced at the sonar again. They were entering much shallower water. The rhythm of the waves was changing and he could hear a booming roar ahead that could only be surf. The strange thing was that he wasn’t approaching the reef – that would have appeared like a wall on the screen.

  ‘This is all wrong!’ he muttered again. He must have thought the same words a thousand times over since they had entered the strange patch of water. ‘Hang on, Callum. It’s hard to tell for certain, but I think we’re getting close to the shore.’

  ‘Thank God!’

  ‘You can thank who you like,’ Sam called. ‘But we’re not out of trouble yet. Give it one last push with the bailing. It might make all the difference.’

  Sam knew that even if they were not driving towards a reef, getting through the surf without capsizing would take a miracle. And if they made it to the beach – what then? How could he secure the boat? His dad would kill him if he wrecked it! But given the choice between staying alive and facing the wrath of his father, it was a no-brainer. His dad would want him to be safe rather than keep the boat unscathed. The boat was insured. They could always get another one.

  ‘I can’t see the light any more, but I can definitely see the shore now, Cal,’ he announced as he began to make out a treeline in the gloom ahead. ‘It’s not far. Hang on extra tight and be ready to jump over the side as soon as I yell. It’s going to get a bit hairy as we run at the beach. If I get it wrong, the boat could easily flip. How’s your swimming?’

  ‘Normally, I’d say that I’d beat you to shore any day,’ Cal replied. ‘Feeling like I do now, I’m not so confident.’

  ‘You’ll be fine,’ Sam assured him. ‘Just do as I say and we’ll be back on solid ground in just a few minutes.’

  ‘Great.’

  Timing would be everythi
ng, Sam realised. He needed to pick a wave and follow it in, staying in the calmer water between waves without getting caught in the back current as they made their final approach. He was glad the boat had such powerful engines. He could see the beach ahead clearly now. It looked sandy, and fairly shallow, which was a relief. It would allow him to hit the shore at speed and drive right up on to the sand without risking too much damage.

  ‘Before we go for it, Cal, can you open that cupboard to your left and pull out the yellow bag inside?’

  ‘I’ll try.’

  There was a pause as Callum shuffled along the bench seat to the cupboard and fumbled with the latch. Sam did his best to slow the boat’s advance towards the shore, but he suddenly realised he had got too close to stop. A massive wave was building behind them, threatening to break earlier than the ones ahead. It was too late to try to turn back and go over it. They would flip for certain.

  ‘Hurry, Cal!’ he said, beginning to panic. ‘I can only give you a few seconds more.’

  He heard the distinctive sound of the cupboard latch snapping open.

  ‘Got it!’

  Sam gunned the engine and the boat leapt forward sending Cal reeling back. Instinct made him drop the bag and grab the side of the boat. The yellow satchel hit the deck and slid towards the stern.

  ‘Whoa!’

  ‘Sorry, Cal,’ he called. ‘It’s now or never. Grab the bag and don’t lose it. It’s a survival kit.’

  ‘I can’t reach it!’

  ‘You’ve got to! We’re in the middle of nowhere, Cal. We need it.’

  Callum looked back at the bag. It was sliding around in several centimetres of water that had surged to the back of the deck. His eyes did not stay on the bag for more than an instant. They were drawn to the gigantic wall of water rearing up behind them. ‘My God, Sam! Behind!’

  Sam flicked a glance over his shoulder and opened the throttle a little further.

  ‘I’ve got the wave,’ he replied. ‘You get the bag.’

  The wave was closer than he would have liked and was even bigger than he had anticipated. It reminded him of the monsters that surfers in Hawaii dreamed of riding, except it was not glistening blue, but a dark, ominous grey laced with thick veins of creamy foam.